


Try Again

by cherrykii



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Anxiety Attacks, Depression, Explicit due to Graphic Depictions of Self Harm, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Recovery, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Yoon Jeonghan-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:08:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25168219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrykii/pseuds/cherrykii
Summary: So whenever you ask me again how I feel, please remember,My answer is you.🌸 30th October, In which Jeonghan finally shatters.
Relationships: Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Yoon Jeonghan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first ever fic. Honestly, this is written when I was in a very very dark place. Maybe I still am, but i don't know. I may or may not write this as a recovery fic, I don't know yet.
> 
> Trigger warning : Suicidal thoughts & Depression. Absolutely do. not. read if this triggers you. 
> 
> But you know what, if you're anyone like me you'll read it anyways... Please do reach out to someone if you're in a crisis. Anyone you trust. You are worth the space. You are loved.
> 
> *Edit : I decided that this will indeed be a recovery fic.

One.

_So whenever you ask me again how I feel, please remember,_

_My answer is you._

3rd of October, 11.48 PM, Clear Weather.

It's a quiet night. All is silent except the dull buzzing and frantic typing from the office. It's the 23rd floor, after all, the apartment just looms over the bustling lights and sound around it – like a silent, haughty all-knowing observer.

The faint glow of the small clock display flickers, a chime resonating through the quiet apartment, pleading anyone within range to shut it off.

A moment passes by, the noise still disturbing the fragile quiet. Finally, a figure groans, barely looking up from the laptop on his lap. Jeonghan contemplates leaving the damn thing beeping by itself, favouring to finish work. The piece of electronic is too far away to immediately shut it off, anyway.

_So fucking annoying._

It was a silly little thing, the first thing he bought upon settling on a foreign country seven years ago. Before he even built his career, _before_ , when he came running to pursue his dreams, when he still had the bright gleam in his eyes.

~~When he still wanted to live.~~ ~~~~

But he had planned for this day. The worn little clock and the alarm set for this day was the only constant item he had with him, when everything spun so fast, so bright, when he burnt, chasing the next big thing after the next.

_Worthless little thing._ He sighs, towing his laptop away before rising from his desk. He strides toward the living room, soon regretting the sharp vertigo from rising too fast. The intrusive beeping adds to it, and his patience is wearing thin. He quickened his pace. However, his big steps falter as his eyes glance over the clock display.

Minus One.

He finally shuts it off, the annoying beeps replaced with a shuddering breath. He needs a moment. Carding a hand through his hair, he shut his eyes for a second, willing a headache to go away. It's time. _It's finally damn time_.

"You have a voice reminder for the 4th of October," the device called out.

With a simple press of a button, the piece of machinery lights up a pretty blue, the flat along with it. It’s a beautiful place, chic and pristine. A pride of his, the place that he always imagined the moment he even thought to start a career abroad. He felt like he made it, like he was on top of the world, he remembered the elation he felt when his family visited. They talked over dinner, catching up on lost time.

It was a high point unlike any other – for a few days it was all perfect, he had a beautiful home, an ethereal boyfriend, he had _success_ – before long though, everything simply fell back into grayscale.

Soon, they'll get together again – for a different purpose. His heart aches at the thought.

Breaking his thoughts, the device starts to play a familiar voice, one he’d grown oh-so-fond of.

( _Jeonghan-ah, it’s your birthday! It’s finally here, huh.)_

He sat down on the soft couch before the ringing in his head could grow louder, ( _I know I said nothing extra this year)_ before the world could spin any more, ( _but just watch out for today, alright!)_ before his legs buckle.

( _Honestly, I don’t know if you’ll be awake but...)_

He fetched the box of letters under the coffee table, only noticing his trembling fingers when he fishes out the envelopes one by one.

( _If you are, good morning. You’ve done so well, you always do –_ a chuckle _)_

He ignores it. Organizing the letters on the marble surface, his fingers trace over the names and addresses scribbled on it.

( _I love you. See you soon.)_

As he finishes, he only feels numb.

_Cheol, I'm so tired.  
  
  
  
_

The bathroom light was so, _so_ bright. That's good, he supposes. There were much less shadows to play tricks on his eyes, much clearer view for his little plan. In the background, warm water was running in the tub -- ha, he says _warm_ even when it's close to scorching -- but that's what he always does, isn't it? Spitting little lies after lies after lies until it all accumulates and spirals into something out of his control. And maybe, he gripped the sink a little tighter.

He thought of the letters, filled to the brim with all of his _'I'm sorry’s_ and _'It'll be alright’s_ and _'Thank you’s_. Maybe for this one last time, he could be truthful. ~~He almost wants to laugh~~.

_Thank you; I love you, I’m so sorry;_

_It’ll be alright; It’ll be better soon; I’m sorry;_

_It’s going to be okay; Live for me; I’m sorry; Thank you._

_I’m so, so sorry._

He doesn’t understand. Raising his head, he almost didn’t recognize his reflection. Everything is numb, every moment feels so distant. It wasn’t supposed to be this way – in his last moments, he should be feeling! He should feel pain, he should feel anger – _anything_. He wants to scream. He hates it. He hates the way his hollow, sunken eyes meet his own, how his hollow cheeks look so pronounced – how he feels all the empty space, every piece of his being hollow, hollow, hollow. Desperate for clarity, Jeonghan brings his fist up to the mirror. Before he knows it, it shatters into such intricate and sharp little pieces. He unfurls his fist, now raw and bleeding, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He noted – still distant, so foggy – that there were little bloody crescents on his palm.

It hurts so much. When did he start to feel this way? He doesn't remember. When was the last time he had proper sleep? He felt dizzy. Proper talks? Proper human connection? Proper food? His head was pounding, he doesn't want this.

But it was his own fault anyway, wasn't it?

He powered through school, all for the promise of a better life - good work, good pay, good life, right? It wasn't enough. He had ambitions, big ones. Charity, charity, charity, always giving, _never giving enough_. He saw how people suffered back home, how families starved and struggled, how his elders wished for their bright little light to grow up nice and wealthy.

It'll never be enough. And it hurts him, how he can't ever give enough.

Now though, he can give everything. He planned down to the last penny, to the last piece of land, last piece of property. It'll all be used for good, run by people he trusts most. Maybe it eases his heart a little.

After all, the world, the beautiful yet so unfair, so cruel, _so merciless_ world, deserves so much better.

~~This world that’ll be rid of him, soon.~~

He felt a lump on his throat.

His head swam.

It’s getting hard to breathe.

He took a shaky breath, the only thing grounding him being the frigid, pristine sink he had a death grip on. His fingers felt numb - a fine tremor wracking through them - but he found enough strength to open the cabinet beneath it. He regained enough focus to find the white-and-blue bottle, the box of sharp enough blades clattering along his tremor. He set the items beside the tub. An urge to laugh bubbles to his chest,

_I’m scared_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talk or reach out to me or yell at me for making this fic at twt @dwarfkii
> 
> My dms are always for anyone to talk with. Take care.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeonghan is not a reliable narrator
> 
> *25.10.2020: edited some parts and added some more words to the ending. i thought it was a tad too abrupt

Ahh, has his vision always been this spotty? 

The tub should be getting colder - was it all his blood spilling into the tub? He couldn't tell anymore. The young man wiggled his fingers, blood-slick and cold and _numb_. It's quite fitting, that's all he ever seems to feel nowadays, and now in his last moments of course he would be just as. The bathtub had strokes of viscous red now.

Delirious. Who knows why, but he mustered whatever strength and whatever twisted fascination to prod at his injury. Blood sluggishly spilled, warmth seeping between his fingertips as his own life dripped out of him. His head lolled to the side, in this bathtub, Jeonghan will finally -

Ha. He thought of his world. He thought of Seungcheol, of the one he holds dearest, of the one that made him feel alive. He thought of the blurred images of his gummy smile, his bright laugh, of the elder's whispers of reassurance on long nights, of the particularly long letter sitting on the marble table - it's a slow agony. Everything hurt, it always had, and Jeonghan couldn't even cry. Jeonghan didn't deserve him.

He didn't deserve much of anything.

All he ever does is leech off everyone around him anyway, and nobody knew. Poor them.

He'll be back soon. Gods, Seungcheol will most likely find him. He's too tired for this. The room was getting darker. His head is so, so heavy. Cotton filled his ears, his heart won't stop aching, and he just wanted to sleep.

So he closed his eyes. 

And if there were a few bangs unhinging the bathroom door, a few desperate screams of help, and more than enough hands holding his limp body, Jeonghan doesn't know.

🌸

He was absolutely terrified.

How did it go so wrong? When? _Why?_

At this moment, he can’t do more than stare at his ( _too pale, so skinny, since when?)_ slumbering face, looking little more than a corpse. He thought of the times Seungcheol found him on the rooftop - figure teetering too close to the edge for anyone's comfort, legs dangling off the ledge - but he always came back to him.

Then, the many more times he held the younger's body, shaking and shrunk and so _small_ in his arms, crying about everything and nothing, incomprehensible thoughts that broke him to pieces, tore him to shreds. Why did it go so wrong? Blood still caked the skin beneath his nails, he was terrified, there’s nothing he can do and the _fucking beeping monitor just does not help_ -

Did he do enough? Was it something he said, was it an accumulation?

Why didn’t he see it? How could he have known? Jeonghan had been more relaxed lately, even with his work piling. So many questions, all of them looping in his head - nothing resolves itself and he just tried to focus to the figure before him instead.

No, he’d been trying so _hard_ and he still isn’t getting better- he’s frustrated and angry, but to who?

Even if Seungcheol held him through countless nights, he knew Jeonghan still felt alone. He was beginning to feel frustrated, and it scared him. Nothing he says gets through. No amount of reassurance is true, not even one hasn't been absolutely warped by his own head. Even if the younger says _okay, I'm alright now_ , and thanks him, Seungcheol can see that even he himself doesn't believe it.

Not even the elder’s ' _I love you'_ s.

And it shatters his heart.

🌸

His stomach sank.

Dim light filtered through his eyelids, slowly rousing him awake.

The smell of disinfectant borderline burned his nose, he could hear the distant low hum of machines, and the faint rattling of a cart somewhere. _It was so damn cold_. He couldn't feel the tips of his fingers. A deep ache settled over his body, weighing down his limbs, taking his breath.

What a disappointment. _Couldn't even die right._

He shifted, groggy and neck stiff, to be met by a familiar mop of black hair and full, lovable cheeks on the small space beside the bed. He must be uncomfortable. The elder was hunched on a chair, arms folded to his chest. His dark brows were knitted, a slight frown tugging on the corner of his lips. Guilt churned his guts.

Jeonghan was at a loss of words. What would he even _say_?

His throat felt like sandpaper. Before he could open his mouth, his boyfriend slumped forward, startling himself awake. His arms flew out, frozen after trying to balance himself. _Adorable._

"Cheol," _Why?_ “Hey.”

Seungcheol met his eyes, immediately blinking the remaining sleep away. Upon regaining enough consciousness, his pouty mouth formed into an ‘o’ - It would’ve been endearing if he hadn’t looked so tired. He was a mess. His hair was sticking out, clothes rumpled and lips chapped. Suddenly he looked as if he was ten years his age, and it stung his heart how he was the cause of it.

“Hey,” Seungcheol’s warm, strained voice brought him out of his thoughts. It does that often. “How are you feeling?”

Jeonghan shifted his gaze to where the IV drip met the back of his hand.

...

"I’m sorry.” He was.

He was tired of having something good and watching it crash and burn, tired of being happy and feeling so on edge, wondering when it'll eventually come crashing down. Jeonghan was tired of being a burden, of having to spill all of his worries and thoughts to his friends - when they have so many more on their plate, when he doesn't do nearly enough for them. They don't deserve this.

He hated himself. It goes unsaid. Afraid that if he says it, it'll concrete the fact. Everyone else will realize what a shit human being he is and hate him too.

Either way, maybe they will now. Maybe Seungcheol will leave, take Joshua with him.

The thought should’ve hurt him, one that never quite shedded skin from the child desperate for love so many years ago. He felt another tingle along his arms then, numbing and rather distracting from everything else. What is he to do? He couldn't bear to look at the silent man beside him. The silence felt suffocating, his pulse pounding in his ears and around his neck - and everything feels too hot, but his fingertips are so cold he can barely feel them and-

Seungcheol's warm hands wrapped around his. Jeonghan noted that the older's hands were shaking. Tiny, strained cries wrenched itself out of him. His shoulders shook now, the blonde could tell that he was trying his best to keep it together. Tears streamed on his cheeks, landing on the soft denim of his trousers.

Seungcheol doesn't cry. _What a sight._ He never cried, not once, in front of him. And now he was ripping at the seams, finally bursting before Jeonghan's frail body. Not for the first time since he woke, he wonders what to feel. The younger was... frustrated? sad? he didn't know. The scene he was seeing distant, like he was just a spectator - floating around in the back of his head, watching it unfold. The only reminder that indeed, he was, was the warm hand grasping his. 

"Seungcheol," he couldn't manage more than a croak.

Before he said another word, the older man cut him off, "They told me you were lucky," his words were slightly slurred with tears.

"Fuck, Hannie, I'm glad." Seungcheol's jaw tensed further, gritting his teeth in an effort to stop crying. Jeonghan wished he didn't.

The room was tight, filled with gasps and choked sobs, and neither had the heart to say anything more. Jeonghan still felt so groggy, his mind still so muddled and muted with painkillers. He wanted to reach out, to ruffle his boyfriend's dark hair and say _I'm here, it's alright now._ He felt his eyelids getting heavier and heavier.

Back to the distant rattling of a hospital's who-knows-what, back to the low mur of electronics in the building. He knows it isn't- _good_ \- but at that moment, lulled by the white noise and the small cries of his lover, Jeonghan couldn't do more but hold the warm hands in his a little tighter, as he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Talk or reach out to me or yell at me for making this fic at twt @dwarfkii
> 
> My dms are always for anyone to talk with. Take care.


End file.
